I want to shoot a gun.
When I was young, my dad had a gun for work and I’d watch him clean and oil it. He let me hold it once it was unloaded. I wanted to go to a gun range and learn to shoot. And, for some reason, that desire stuck with me, I wanted to hold a gun, feel the weight, and find out what it was like to fire it.
His suicide changed that.
The gun culture is so different here vs Los Angeles. I don't know
anyone back home who has a gun for protection or any other reason,
really. But here, they're a part of life.
I didn’t even realize how my view of guns changed until a friend got herself one. I asked if I could hold it and as soon as my hand touched it I panicked and this wave of terror just washed over me. I pushed it back saying, “I can’t! I can’t!” I was embarrassed to have that reaction, as understandable as it is.
I’m afraid of a lot of things and I hate that shit. Fear runs my life - though less so since moving here - and that’s no way to live. So I force myself to go sleeveless and I ask for what I want in bed and I throw my naked fat body out into the internet void. I try so hard to face the things that terrify me because I have lost so fucking much by existing in fear. Running from anything that made me afraid. I’ve missed so many opportunities and put up with so much that I shouldn’t have because I’m so afraid of failure. And success. Interesting dichotomy, isn’t it?
So I want to shoot a gun. I don’t know if/how I’m going to react when I hear the noise and smell the gun powder. It’s probably a huge likelihood that it will be difficult to even hold it, much less fire it. But I want to try. I want to face that one fear and move past it.
You know why? Because fuck fear, that’s why.